


A Prince and his Thief

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Royalty, princelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he saw him, Prince Sherlock Holmes was completely off-guard.</p><p>---</p><p>A fill for the kinkmeme, reposting from my LiveJournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prince and his Thief

**Author's Note:**

> I keep trying to post this work but it never shows up, so instead of importing it, I have to just repost it here.
> 
> I made a LiveJournal account in December to fill a prompt on the BBC Sherlock kinkmeme, but I figured I may as well post it over here too!
> 
> The original prompt is here: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=126603457
> 
> And my livejournal is here: http://doomtemp.livejournal.com
> 
> I'm not sure if there's some sort of procedure for reposting fills here, so if anyone can give me advice, much would be appreciated.
> 
> Not beta'ed/not britpicked. Sorry!

The first time he saw him, Prince Sherlock Holmes was completely off-guard.

It was on a night like any other; the clouds loomed over the castle, not a star to be found amongst the dark of the sky. Naturally, Sherlock didn’t spend a single second of the night sleeping like he should have been. Instead, he was busying himself with one of his numerous experiments. Various papers and scrolls littered the floor of his bedroom, and several vials, each containing a differently coloured liquid, were placed on the corner table. The prince was eagerly scribbling down notes when a quiet clanging sound could be heard. Curious (and a bit annoyed at having his experiment interrupted), he carefully set out to find the source of the noise.

As he padded through the corridors, the sound would occasionally repeat its self, slowly revealing the location of its origin. Finally, he arrived at the armoury room. He silently crept into the room, only to be greeted by the sight of a cloaked figure carrying a relatively large sack filled with what could only be a full set of armour.

Sherlock tried to get a closer look at the thief’s face. He must have stepped too loudly, however, because seconds later, the thief had turned around and stared directly at the prince. Before he knew what happened, Sherlock had been barreled over by the armour thief, who was making a mad dash through the corridors and down the spiral staircase of one of the guard towers. Picking himself up off of the floor, Sherlock tramped down the stairs to chase after the figure, hoping to catch another glimpse of his visage. But it was too late; the thief had left as quickly as he had arrived, gone before Sherlock had a chance to follow.

Needless to say, Sherlock was upset- not because the armour had been stolen, but because he had been bested by a petty burglar. With a ‘harrumph’, he headed outside. There had to be some way that the thief had managed to get in without noticing. Stepping onto the grass, he walked around the castle’s exterior, occasionally glancing upwards. He blinked, and grinned. Oh, this would be interesting.

The armoury was positioned near the guard tower in order to make it easier to access weapons and protection during a siege. While it was easy enough to exit the guard tower by stepping down the stairs and heading out the door (which was what the thief had done to escape), the problem lay within being able to enter the tower. While the door could be opened if one was inside the tower, it could not be opened from the outside. So how did the thief enter the castle? Simple: He scaled one of the walls on the side of the castle and stepped in through the window. The evidence was clearly there: a small grappling hook and rope were still dangling from one of the windows. The entry was notable for two reasons:

1\. In order to have scaled a wall so high with a grappling hook, the thief would not only have to be tremendously strong, but have to possess perfect aim as well.

2\. Most of the actions required to make such a bold move would have to have been made with the aid of inside knowledge of the castle: i.e., which areas would be the easiest to sneak into and when they would be.

Against his better judgment, Sherlock found himself becoming curious. Who was this mysterious intruder, and how had they known?

He needed to know.

\---

The very next day, his older brother Mycroft sent out a decree that anyone suspected of thievery was to be immediately brought to the royal court to be assessed.

\---

“It was incredible, John. The burglar must have known about the interior of the castle somehow. I suspect one of the guards had been paid to tip the scoundrel. It’s quite fascinating.”

Sherlock sat on the grass in the modest garden of the Watson’s palace, eagerly detailing the events of the prior night. The Watsons were moderately wealthy, although their reputation and connections around the kingdoms were strained. King and Queen Watson’s daughter, Harriet, had taken too much of a liking to wine, and tended to show up completely drunk to any and every social gathering. Their son, Prince John, was betrothed to Sherlock for the sake of both families; Sherlock was considered nearly impossible to be married, which would bring dishonor on the Holmes family- by marrying John, Sherlock would keep honour on the family, and John would have a better opportunity to regain his family’s reputation. Currently, John was the target of Sherlock’s excited musings.

As Sherlock spoke rapidly, John shifted a bit. “That’s great and all, Sherlock, but… why are you so desperate to apprehend the thief? It was only a set of armour. Surely you would be able to find another set just as good, if not better.”

“Because, John,” Sherlock smirked, “this is the most interesting thing to happen in the castle since I set fire to the rug in Mycroft’s bedroom!”

At hearing this, John grinned and laughed. Sherlock had always admired John’s laughter, and was more than pleased to know that he was the only one who could make John laugh, much as John was the only one who could tolerate Sherlock for more than ten minutes.

“And so, I plan to find the thief. Hope fully Mycroft’s decree will give me the chance to uncover his identity.” Sherlock said with an air of finality. John simply nodded, excusing himself so that he could practice his archery.

\---

That night, the castle was again visited by the thief. Sherlock had, for once, actually fallen asleep (though not in his bed, but at his desk) when he heard the familiar clanging sound. This time, Sherlock was prepared. He had acquired a dagger after his visit with John, though if everything went well, he didn’t intend to use it. Once again, he crept into the armoury, where the thief was in the process of stuffing another set of armour into the sack. Once the thief was done prepping the bag, Sherlock decided to make his presence known.

“Welcome back.” He said coolly, twirling the dagger in his fingers. “I suppose that you found our armour well-made and decided to collect more.” The thief stepped back, fully facing the prince now- but damn it, Sherlock still couldn’t see his face! The cloak that the thief was wearing seemed to hide his face perfectly. Seemingly in a panic, the thief grabbed for the nearest weapon, a small sword, and wordlessly pointed it at the prince.

“And what are you planning to do with that? Surely you must know that I’m more than capable of disarming you with a mere dagger. Now, you’re undoubtedly thinking that I’m going to expose you and have you banished from the land, or worse. No, I just want to talk to you.”

The thief was unfazed, his grip still steady on the sword. “I don’t have to tell you anything.” The thief responded in a gruff voice.

“Oh, but you’re going to.” Sherlock grinned, stepping towards the thief slowly. “Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t be looking for you? I find you… intriguing.” At this, the thief hesitated, lowering his sword just a fraction of an inch, before suddenly springing into action, knocking the dagger out of Sherlock’s hand and aiming for the prince’s neck.

“Tell no one about this meeting, and I’ll let you live.”

Sherlock paused for a moment, contemplating his next move.

“Reveal your identity to me, and I’ll let you go free- in fact, I’ll even give you every bit of armour in this room. Every. Bit.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” The thief mocked, pulling the sword away and headbutting the prince, causing him to stumble backward in pain. The last thing the prince heard before his head could clear was the sound of quiet but gleeful laughter, and the clanking of yet another set of armour being hauled away in a sack.

Clearly he would need to revise his plans.

\---

The next few day days and nights contained the same routine: Each night, the thief would enter through the window and escape through the guard tower’s door. Sherlock would try to confront the thief as he was stealing the armour, though he never managed to best the mysterious intruder. Then the following morning, Sherlock would tell John about his escapades.

“Why don’t you just have someone guard the exit to the guard tower? Then you could apprehend him easily.” John asked one day as they were fencing in the Holmes’s garden.

“Think about it, John. If you knew that someone was stealing from you, would you want anyone to know that you were allowing it to happen?”

“And you still trust me enough to tell me about all of this without telling anyone else?”

“Of course I do.” Sherlock scoffed. “There’s nobody else that I’d trust more. You listen to me and accept me for who I am. Besides, if I allowed anyone other than myself to catch him, he would surely be sent away. And I can’t have that happening.”

“It sounds as if you’re falling in love with this burglar.” John teased, knocking the sword out of Sherlock’s hand easily.

“Perhaps I am. But nobody could replace you.” Sherlock replied with a soft smile.

“Good to know. I win again, by the way.” John teased.

\---

Sherlock mentally chastised himself. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?

Each of the previous nights, he had waited until after the thief had arrived through the window to confront him. Oh, how foolish! This night, he was poised near the window, a sword in his hand, just out of sight as he lay in waiting. With each hour that passed, Sherlock could feel the anticipation building in his bones, filling him to the brim with energy like he had never felt before. Finally, the click of the hook against the cold stone of the window caught Sherlock’s attention. He listened to the nearly inaudible sounds of the footsteps climbing up the wall until finally, the thief had arrived through the window.

“So glad to see you again. Though I’m afraid your path is blocked this time.” Sherlock said, pointing the sword at the intruder’s neck. “I have you know.”

The intruder grunted and tried to back away, though there was nowhere to run. The only escape from this point would be if he backed out of the window and rappelled down the rope- but Sherlock had a sword and could easily sever the line, leaving the intruder to fall, quite possibly to his death. Knowing he had no means of escape, the intruder turned around every which way frantically as if to magically find a way to disappear.

“Enough of this nonsense. I’ve been waiting for weeks to figure out who you are, and now I finally get to find out.” Sherlock grinned, and pulled down the hood of the cloak.

He stood there, stunned, as the intruder flinched away from him.

“John?” Sherlock asked in a feeble voice.

Suddenly, everything clicked. The perfect aim of the thief matched John’s archery skills; both the thief and John possessed tremendous strength; both were extremely adept at swordfighting, and so much more.

How could he not have seen it?

\---

Minutes later, both John and Sherlock were seated on Sherlock’s bed.

“I don’t understand, John.” Sherlock admitted. “Why have you been doing that?”

John looked away sadly and murmured, “My family and I… we needed the money. If I could sell the sets of armour, there would be enough to last us before the wedding. And I supposed that you wouldn’t miss them too dearly”

Sherlock frowned and placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “I told you the second time that I saw you… if you’d have let me know who you were, I would have given you the armour.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie. You’d have me apprehended if I was anyone else.” John laughed bitterly.

“But you’re not anyone else!” Sherlock pleaded.

“And if I had revealed myself? How much would you have trusted me after that? You told me everything, and now you’ve found that I betrayed you.”

Sherlock glanced deeply into John’s azure eyes. “I could never tell anyone. You know this for a fact, John. I care about you more than anyone I’ve ever known… and I can only hope that you care about me as well.”

John paused, and sighed. “I care about you.” He said after a moment.

“Good. Then you won’t mind if I do this…” Sherlock said, and tentatively leaned forward to give John a kiss, which was eagerly returned.

\---

Several months later, John and Sherlock were happily married.

And if the mysterious armour thief was never heard from again, nobody seemed to question it.


End file.
